Tag Archives: writing


The pavement cracks beneath me. Always so hard, immovable. For it to break… That has to symbolize something, right?

Wish I knew what.

Each breath burns my lungs, caustic atmosphere stinging worn musculature, urging it back to action. I can smell the lactic acid through my pores, on my sweat, in the blood that runs in jagged lines down my arms, drips from the tips of my fingers and bursts within the concrete’s newly-formed cracks.

So prominent is this, so powerful this sensation, that my feet seem numb, legs leaden, nothing but dead weight hanging from creaking joints and a heaving torso. Just the smell, just the taste and the sting.

Just the crack of two knuckles against my ribs, splitting them and crushing the organs behind, expelling air past my teeth. Bile coats my lips, sour and bitter on my tongue. I cough–involuntary–and bring a hand to my chest, wince at the fresh surge of pain.

I see it all: the foot arcing in, the heel snapping down from above, the air distorted around my chin as the two parts collide at odds, dull clatter of bones splintered in my jaw and teeth ripped free of my gums. There’s copper filling my mouth, even as I see it dribble from between lips barely parted, bright red and mixed with clear spit. Something strikes my chest from within, jerks cracked ribs into searing motion, beats again and nearly goes silent, provoking a scrambling fear in a rapidly dimming mind.

The cracks in the pavement widen under my bulk.


Posted by on April 26, 2011 in Writing


Tags: , , ,


“What the fuck were you thinking?”

The shmura matzah lies, edge broken, on the table. It’s still in its plastic bag, wrapped in Israel and sealed all the way to us. I release it, fingers tentatively dangling above it, deciding whether to continue trying to return it to its box.

“The package says ‘to Mr. Ronald Reiches.’ That’s my name, not yours.”

He’d opened it mere moments before, spacious yellow envelope with this simple, square box within. I’d removed the matzah from the box, to show him what shmura is. Thirty seconds ago, he’d had no concept of hand-pressed matzah, individually baked. A minute ago, he hadn’t even known we’d had matzah in the house.

I pick up the box once more, carefully return the matzah to the package and seal it back up, holding my tongue.

Leave a comment

Posted by on April 12, 2011 in Writing


Tags: , , ,

Temporary Service Interruption + New Link

I apologize to those following along for the lack of updates on Pariah. This week has been surprisingly busy and very tiring, but productive in other “quality of life” ways. I promise I will be caught up on Pariah long before Sunday.

You might also have noticed a new section on the sidebar. It’s a section for the blogroll and, though there’s only one so far, it’s a doozy.

Script Bird Fiction is the eponymous author’s repository for short fiction, which she’ll be updating weekly. I’m sure she’d appreciate if everyone who came here popped on over there and offered her comments and support as she leaps full-steam into the world of internet blogging.

I swear, I’m not as lazy as I seem,


Leave a comment

Posted by on March 10, 2011 in Updates


Tags: , , , ,

Pariah (ii)

They sit on the edge of a small patio, attached to the body of the dojo and facing the waterfall, the forest above it. The town’s wall, tall stalks of bamboo that has yellowed with age, terminates at the woods’ edge. Kiori dangles his legs in the air, kicks them back and forth with the impatient energy of all children. He looks up at the waterfall, over to the trees and down the road in turn, his attention never remaining in one place for long. His father simply stares straight ahead, feet planted, but knee twitching uneasily.

“You’ve fallen behind in your training, again.”

Kiori’s legs stop moving, then begin again with increased speed and intensity, but his eyes are focused straight down at the stone walkway. They remain there, as though stuck, while his father takes the rare opportunity—his youngest son, listening!—to continue speaking.

Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on March 8, 2011 in Writing


Tags: , , , , ,

Pariah (i)


The voice echoes against bamboo walls, audible over the roar of the waterfall that ends just inside their border, at the edge of a thriving forest. Tall stalks of bright green encircle Eiji as he enters deeper into the closest copse, mid-day sun dimmed to stray slivers by the tight canopy. He walks briskly, with purpose, each footfall sure and certain, but almost silent, never heavy. Eiji’s broad shoulders slump, feet stop in place, not for fear of being lost, but of an emotional weariness he can’t shake. He takes one last step forward, branch almost catching on his loose ponytail as he slips under it, and stands erect, scanning the forest with jade eyes.

Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on March 7, 2011 in Writing


Tags: , , , , ,

The end of one experiment and the beginning of another

So, Gehenna was nothing grand. Just a try at serial fiction, at telling a story that did some things I hadn’t done before. An almost total lack of violence, just winging it over the course of a week, but doing so regularly, having a post up on time, every night.

In some ways it was a success. I managed to stick with it, and it’s surely not the worst story I’ve ever written, though it wasn’t anything mind-blowingly amazing. So, the next experiment: It’s time to structure stuff.

I’m going to tell a weekly story, here. I’ll try to begin it every Monday, at midnight, and end it every Sunday at the same time. During the day, I’m going to devote some time to coming up with a plot-line and a general story-arc. I’ll try different methods over the next few weeks, from just one overarching plot to one divided into an individual, daily progression. I’ll experiment with having just the one complete arc and with having many smaller, daily arcs that are secondary to the larger one.

Either way, I think it’ll be a lot of fun, and I hope you enjoy it!

Leave a comment

Posted by on March 6, 2011 in Writing


Tags: , , , ,

Gehenna (finale)

The dreams break under the harsh brilliance of the morning sun, but its ire is somewhat deadened, filtered through a palpable aura of contentment that dulls the obvious and blunts the true. Such is the power of human folly, the strength in oblivious disregard for the facts.

Her hand spreads against his chest, fingers running through coiled hair. He breathes deep, smells the tonic in her hair, the oils of her skin weakened by the passage of time, but still remaining in a faint wisp of their former glory. Oil… To anoint royalty, yes? He stifles a laugh, but she feels him shake anyway, raises her head and looks into his softened eyes with hers, likewise healed.

Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on March 6, 2011 in Writing


Tags: , , , , ,

%d bloggers like this: